I implemented a few systems in the past and although my work was done in months, the result of my work has remained in use for many years. In some cases, the system manager has spent the last decade working with the result of what I created in months. If we translate that time into a new unit called “lifetime” (1 lifetime = 80 years), s/he has spent 1/8th lifetime with something I created in 0.00625 lifetime. To parallel this, a senator can make enough changes in 0.025 lifetime to affect 4 lifetime or more. Multiply that by the number of people affected and you have the true impact of a change. Time is the key ingredient that every life shares on this earth.

father time by AJ Frena

While driving around a few days ago, an old colonial house caught my eye. I think it was built sometime in the mid-19th century. How many children has that house seen? How many happy and unhappy couples have lived in it? I wonder if hundred eighty years from now someone will similarly wonder what we must have gone through when building our house. They would have no idea how we thought through every last detail. They would have discussions about our intentions. What if the third owner abused this house and the fourth owner added a new room and got an electrician to rewire the whole house. Would the fifth owner even be able to see beyond the two prior owners? Would the electrician consider the impact of his work on generations and families? Would anything remain from our original design? Would they question our intentions? Would they be slaves to the house or would they make the house a slave to them? Sometimes I see America as that house from years gone by.

A 30-year mortgage is paid off in 37.5% of 1 lifetime. First 25% of 1 lifetime is spent in early basic education. 33% of 1 lifetime is spent sleeping. These affected me much less when I thought lifetime was an eternity. We often hear that what we are about to decide depends on our time horizon. Or we hear that we have plenty of time to get to something. Or we have warranties or guarantees for life (whose life?). Any time a comment is made about time, I convert it into this new unit called lifetime and get a different perspective of the issue.

On the opposite end of a lifetime, we find seconds (milliseconds, microseconds…). Our brains can detect delays of microseconds to localize sound in space (triangulate the location of the sound based on the distance between our two ears). It takes little time for us to respond to someone else. Although the brain can process at such amazing speeds, that does not mean we always avoid making mistakes of a lifetime in a split second? Why is it sometimes difficult for us to insert a time lag between stimulus and response when needed and respond immediately in situations requiring quick action? It takes a second to ruin trust built over a lifetime (consider the recent financial criminal’s split second decisions converted to lifetime impact on victims). On the scale of eternity (or from God’s perspective) 1 lifetime is only a microsecond but that we cannot understand. Second by second, we must fill up our lifetime with the choices we make.

There is a lot to talk about when it comes to time but one more point for now is reference to it in analysis. How long is a century and can we really understand what it represents if we haven’t experienced it? Or when we hear that something has a particular attribute (“Joe is a nice guy.”, “Toyota makes good cars.”, “Lehman is a solid company.”), do we remember the time dimension? How long has this been the case? How has the definition of the attribute changed over time? Based on these changes over time, is the initial statement still valid? It was fascinating to hear all kinds of analysis and predictions flying around about presidential elections not too long ago based on past elections. It is also funny to hear all kinds of predictions about the current recession, the prices of gold, and the status of the dollar as a reserve currency.

Time is that constant companion of ours that either gets no attention or the wrong attention. Perhaps our perspective, our decisions and, as a result, our lives would improve from a simple recognition of the place of everything along that critical time dimension. I’ll finish with a quote from Ecclesiastes 3:

“1 There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: 2 a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, 3 a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, 4 a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, 5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain, 6 a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, 7 a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, 8 a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. “

Little Boat by ~to-shreds

The year before my mother passed away, she taught my son a song about a little boy and his toy ship. Every time I hear the song (“Im pokrik navak” here), I remember my childhood. I remember my mother and her words here and there that in hindsight seem to all have had a purpose. She would sometimes make a comment about something that seemed irrelevant or unimportant at the time. Looking back those comments were carefully crafted statements about important life issues delivered in the right context at the right time.

I’m sorry to butcher the beauty of the song but feel that even a crude translation is relevant:

Created the little boy
A white paper ship.
He lowered the ship
Onto the waves of the river.

My little ship, my little ship,
Will you reach indeed the blue sea?
My little ship, my little ship,
Will you reach indeed the blue sea?

My little ship, my little ship,
Where are you, where are you going?
Where are they, where are they taking you
The crazy waves of the river?

My little ship, my little ship,
Will you reach indeed the blue sea?
My little ship, my little ship,
Will you reach indeed the blue sea?

The sun disappeared,
Behind the clouds it went.
Rain fell from the sky
And the little river flooded.

My little ship, my little ship,
Did you reach indeed the blue sea?
Or on the way drowned you the wind
And you fell asleep at the bottom of the river?

My little ship, my little ship,
Did you reach indeed the blue sea?
Or on the way drowned you the wind
And you fell asleep at the bottom of the river?

In a conversation with a friend I mentioned that one of my hopes is to live an uneventful and simple life in uninteresting times. In Armenian history every generation has faced some calamity, a disaster, a socioeconomic upheaval, and suffering. I briefly mentioned this here.

Try to plant a seed in a garden. The more fertile the soil, the higher the output of the plant. Disturb the soil or the roots, and risk ending up with a shocked plant. Storms, bugs, and looters can kill even the strongest plants. Fail to harvest, support, and feed the plants, and risk having a poor outcome. People who want to get very rich want to get too much fertilizer in the garden metaphor which can kill a plant. Others who focus on one aspect of life at expense of others (time being limited and constant) choose one type of food in the garden metaphor at the expense of other nutrients resulting in an overly green plant with no fruit, or some other deficiency.

Another friend of mine said that he would go and fight for his country. I said “I hope you never have to make that choice.”

I hope the waves in your life are nothing you cannot handle.

Down is Up... by ~Dsva

I was the summer intern at Eaton Vance, in the Strategic Income Fund team a few summers ago. Taking my job very seriously, I did everything to make sure that my duties were carried out to absolute perfection with attention to every detail. After a few weeks, the team got used to having everything in order; and I realized that I had created a process where I could have a few hours free at the end of every day to ask questions, check the markets, read the hundreds of research papers that came to our group, and learn. I tried to learn as much as I could from this small group of very bright people who managed two mutual funds.

At the end of the summer, I received Victor Niederhoffer’s book The Education of  a Speculator as a farewell gift. In addition to all the wisdom in the book, there are a few notes inside the front cover and the farewell card.

“From one amateur speculator to another…”

“I’m sure you’ll succeed in your American adventure…”

…

“I hope you’ll know what Victor means – come back and visit when you’re rich…”

“I expect you to surpass the achievements of George Sorosanian without cutting corners like Michael Milkenian…”

“Just remember the market could go up or it could go down…”

Over the years, I have often remembered these last three parting wishes. I have not visited them yet and will probably not visit for quite some time. I’m still working on the achievements but having just read The Crisis & What to Do About It by George Soros, I have a long way to go. And there’s not a day (especially today) when I don’t remember the last reminder…

TOOBS for stock by ~Mydin

I was thinking during my commute how quick the integration of new discoveries is these days. Perhaps it’s another side effect of easy information that new products, new inventions, new processes and new methods are analyzed, internalized, and digested so fast. Take the iPhone, for example. It has been around for a couple years, yet there are thousands of little programs for it already. I am sure that in another year or two, it will be added to the list of ancient technologies such as floppy disk, MS-DOS, short-wave radio, light bulb, screws, wheels, etc. To be sure, most technologies are still in use today but they have been internalized by us to the point where we rarely consider the human efforts, sacrifices, and trials that went into their initial births.

Three thoughts come to mind. First, never give up. It may take years to develop a system, a product, or to study a new force, new genetic mutation, new cancer cell, or write a great book. It may take a lifetime. People may argue, disagree, dismiss your work. They may misunderstand, misrepresent, take credit, discredit what you do. But from my history lessons, nothing major and meaningful was ever born overnight. One thought leads to another, one work makes it feasible to create another. That’s the process of development. What we see in the rear view mirror is the mature internalized, accepted, perfected result of many lifetimes of hard work.

Second, we all have some talents. My father says that great people are born with these special talents. He says although we can go to schools to learn how to write like ՎԱՀԱՆ ՏԵՐՅԱՆ, very few will be gifted with that special fragrance that he breathed into his poetry. Sure, but I also believe we each have our own unique gifts. It is a matter of early discovery and a lifetime of hard work. Again, in hindsight all we see are the jewels left behind by the greats. We do not always see all of the trials, failed attempts, discouragement, disagreements, and the hard work they endured. A classmate from elementary school writes beautiful poetry almost daily (who would have ever expected) but also lives a routine that would seem impossible to most. With God’s gift, and lots of hard work, I can envision a book in the horizon. I am sure it will be anything but easy.

Third, when you make it do not be disappointed when it’s quickly integrated into the civilization or the culture. The new method that was developed after years of hard work may become a standard routine so elementary that is taken for granted and almost forgotten. Sometimes the greatness is not appreciated for a generation or two. Often the impact is profound in many other areas of life not imagined initially. I am thinking of the Internet Protocol, for example.

As for me, I’ll be busy thinking much, learning much, observing much, experiencing much and, of course, expressing much…

Florida - holga10 by Pauline Celle

Spring of 1994 was as full of hope as the spring of 1993. I had applied to a few colleges in the US but the question of financial support still remained unresolved.

At school I had a friend whose parents had emigrated from Poland. He used to be in my physics class. During one of the labs he offered to drive if I’d be interested to go check out the international fair in St. Petersburg. A few days later, my friend and I were walking around in the giant arena where people with ancestry from almost every country had setup booths showcasing whatever they considered representative of their culture. Having met no Armenians in Florida, I thought the probability of seeing an Armenian booth would infinitely approach zero. I hadn’t even finished my thought when I came across a huge area representing Armenia. After months of culture shock, being homesick and not seeing anything Armenian, I was stunned. I must have been standing there for some time to provoke a nice lady and her husband to approach and start a conversation.

It was wonderful to find the Armenian community in Florida. We went to church together, I shared with them my experiences, they told me their stories. I got close to two elderly couples who always called and invited me to all kinds of gatherings helping me become a part of the community. This, in hindsight, was something I really needed at the time. Their friendship helped me balance the cultural transfusion I was undergoing. Little did I know that they would help me tremendously in the next few years as if it had all been perfectly planned for me.

One day, they invited me to a small gathering. Suspecting nothing whatsoever, I arrived at a house full of the members of the community gathered to celebrate my birthday. Later I found out that my Armenian friends had arranged this party to help fund my return to America. My birthday present purchased the return ticket to America later that summer.

These two couples have helped me tremendously during my initial years. I will not mention names to respect their privacy. Their support will always be remembered and they will always be honored and loved in my home and in my heart for everything that they did. They have not only helped me financially but also provided much needed moral support. Moreover, they told me many stories from their lives and shared lessons they had learned which have helped me deal with my own situations. These are gifts that for me are worth far more than anything sold anywhere.

One of the papers that they signed to become my sponsors had a field for relationship. “What should I write here?” I asked. “Cousin” was the instantaneous reply. I remember I was so proud of that word probably because cousins are considered brothers and sisters in Armenian culture (much closer relationships than the word represents in the American culture). But I also knew that what he did was something very few cousins would ever do for each other. I have saved those papers and look at them periodically to remember and honor their support and friendship.

Years later when I asked them why they helped a stranger who could have turned out to be anything? They reminded me that people had also helped them in their early days and that I would probably do the same.

My year was coming to an end, I had been accepted to a few colleges but had decided that I would attend a community college if I was able to return because that would place the least burden on the people who had offered to help me. My research showed that only the US consul in Armenia could approve my return; therefore, I had to have all my paperwork in absolute order before I could even begin to hope for yet another dream to become reality. I knew that if I did not return to the US, I would miss my new family very much. They had made the year as perfect as I could have ever dreamed. I had learned a lot from them and had become very attached to them.

As a final step, I called my friends in Boston to let them know that I was returning to Armenia and wish them all the best and hope that I would see them again some day. The rest of the story leaves me humbled by God’s amazing powers.

Culture shock by ~yarry

I don’t remember exactly how long the honeymoon period of textbook culture shock lasted but soon I found myself dealing with the resentment, rejection phase during which I couldn’t believe how terrible American education was, how tasteless American food was, and how wonderful everything back in Armenia was. This is the first time I understood and felt the physical pain from longing (Armenian word “կարոտ”). I’d become close friends with this pain. We would get to know each other well as it would frequent me for a few years.

I attended high school during this year and mainly learned English, American history and the culture. All other subjects were nowhere near what I had already completed in Armenia. If they hadn’t been in a foreign language, I could get excellent grades without listening during class or opening a single textbook. In hindsight, this year was not about academics. Instead, I went through a difficult cultural adjustment, learned the language, and worked on ways to attend college in America. Throughout the year, my American family supported me in so many ways that when I look back as a parent, I wonder how they actually managed to do it. I am sure it was not easy at all for them.

In many ways, I am very fortunate to have experienced a new culture and a new family. We tend to have lens through which we view the world, but in my case, I had been given an extra set to see it in different colors. The result has been a fascinating experience. Transitions from Armenian culture to American culture, from my family to my new family, from being a kid to growing up, from helping out to being helped, from wanting to leave to wanting to stay all took place at roughly the same time. Amazingly, there were many people who supported me in this process. The librarian at the high school was one of the most encouraging and supportive people ever and played a very key role during that year. Many of the friends and family of my new family also were very supporting and wonderful people.

I hope that over the years, I can come back and add to this post all my memories. Normal teenagers go through so much at the age of sixteen. I had chosen to go through it all in a foreign country. Fortunately, my host family was there to help. The hardest times were the holidays. December 31st was a really difficult day away from family and friends. I would have never thought that I’d be writing about it almost exactly fifteen years later. Around the holidays, I had already started working on getting accepted into an American college or university. I had taken the standardized tests and had discovered that my English was far weaker than my math. However, the main hurdle remained the financing as I had no more than a couple hundred dollars saved up. But as I had come to expect, an unexpected, unbelievable event made it all possible.

Bentley University

After overnight stays in Paris and Philadelphia, we arrived at Bentley. Who would have thought at the time that five years later I would graduate from this great institution with a Bachelor’s degree in Finance? The three-week immersion program was perfect for a novice English learner like me. But the amazing part of it was the chain of events it triggered which in hindsight seem surreal. Perhaps the lives of others are also chains of interconnected, interrelated events but looking back, to this day I am amazed and consider these to be God’s expressions.

There were seven of us Armenians from the group of thirty-two who were advised to attend the program. I don’t remember exactly the order of events but upon hearing about our arrival, one of the local Armenian priests who lived five minutes from the school came to visit and let us know that if we needed anything, he was there to help. Years later, the same beloved priest conducted our wedding ceremony, then years later christened both our children. He had also conducted the wedding of my wife’s parents a few decades before and had christened my wife. However, the day we met him, I simply knew that it was wonderful to find a reassuring person in a foreign country who shared our Armenian heritage.

On one of the hot summer days during the three weeks, we went on a boat trip to George’s Island. On the boat, I heard some folks speaking the beautiful western Armenian dialect, approached them and started talking to them. I had no clue that I was talking with my future family. The nice man who is now my friend and my father-in-law said that an Armenian picnic was coming up and he’d like to take us there. A few days later, he pulled up in his stretch limousine (years later I drove that car to ear a few dollars) to pick us up. I remember the faces of the other students in the program when the Armenian kids were being picked up in a limo.

My English certainly improved noticeably during the program. With so many new fond memories, impressions of Boston and Cambridge, new Armenian friends, further cultural awareness, I thought that the three weeks flew by quicker than three seconds. The honeymoon period of standard culture shock was well underway as I arrived at my final destination (temporarily final) in southern Florida, the sub-tropical state where nothing from humidity, atmospheric pressure to people and their culture was anything I had ever experienced before.